


Poison

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [22]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Gore, Implied Trans Lyon, Implied/Referenced Necrophilia, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Not even a little consensual, Possession, Rape, Tentacles, Torture, my soul feels unclean now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 01:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: Fomortiis thrives on despair, taking everything from his toys and using them until there's nothing left.[Kinktober Entry 24 - Possession]





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got around to expanding on an entry from my drabble collection ([this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887498/chapters/31955187)) to make... this... monstrosity. WHEW. _sure did write some fuckin' words here, i did,_

A wicked laugh echoes off the walls of the ruined throne room; between the sheer, desolate powerlessness he feels from the little sliver of a human that remains in this stolen flesh, and the pitiful, stubborn defiance in the eyes of the woman at his feet, what could Fomortiis do but relish in it?

Eirika’s pretty face is smeared with dirt and blood; her body is immobilized by the slimy limbs of one of his Mogalls but she glares at him still. He crosses his legs, perched proud upon his bloody throne, and tilts his chin up and his gaze consumes her foolish, soft-hearted pride in slow, long looks. She _does _look lovely like this—more appealing than most humans, he decides, if only because the demon king can feel the faint, nostalgic attraction in the despairing depths of his host’s heart.

“With no hope of victory, you would still waste your energy resisting—how foolish.” His voice is too dark to belong to sweet, stumbling Lyon, but it comes from the same throat even so. The demon leans forward atop his throne and snatches her chin without a hint of tenderness. Her eyes burn as he stares into them, but his are deathly calm, flickering with amusement. “Such spirit will prove for naught, Eirika.” He can feel her shiver when he says her name—his voice just a bit too much like her sweet, pathetic prince’s, he’s sure—but continues without pause. “You can save no one, now, not even yourself. What a pitiful sight you are.”

Eirika grits her teeth and summons venom from her throat, but Fomortiis jerks her chin up a little higher and the fiend that holds her wraps around the exposed column of her neck. It squeezes her abruptly, hard enough to crush, and Eirika gives a wretched cough. The demon king chuckles as it tightens its hold on her ribcage yet again; there’s a sickly sound of fracturing bones, and it’s exactly the sort of torment he lives for.

Her next cough releases blood, and it mixes with the stains on her face as it drips down her chin. She gasps and sobs, hardly able to breathe, but the thing loosens its hold just enough—he won’t kill her yet, not before he’s had his fun. And _oh_, what _fun _she will be—she, and the wailing ghost of Lyon that wriggles uselessly under his skin, what a perfect pair they make.

He hums, thoughtful, and twirls a lock of her hair around his finger; she slumps, heaving, against the living shackles that hold her. “Just now, I had a lovely idea, Eirika. Were I in possession of my body, I could rend you limb from limb with ease… but this flesh doesn’t make that quite so easy. Regardless, I intend to enjoy my time parading about in this pitiful sack of meat as long as it lasts…”

“And this body _wants _you, Eirika,” he purrs, voice lowered to a whisper. There’s such shock and fear in the way she looks at him—disbelief, hatred, despair, every bit of it is delicious.

“You’re lying,” she manages, the fire in her eyes igniting once more.

“Why would I lie, when the truth is so delightful?” The demon king leans back into his seat with a dry, smug grin on Lyon’s lips. “He’s dreamed about you for _so _long—of having you and Ephraim both, may I add. Such a timid boy, but his fantasies are so colorful…” She believes him, he can see it in how her expression sinks with horror, but at the same time, she denies it just as she denies her own powerlessness.

The demon flicks his wrist, and the fiend gives a shrill noise. Its tendrils hook into Eirika’s armor and tear it apart in a rush, leaving shreds of cloth and barely-hanging metal to cover her skin; in places, the blood and grime has seeped through to her flesh. The fiend wraps itself around a wound on her stomach in such a way that she cries out, and it gropes roughly at her modest breasts, pushing them upward.

“He wanted you to belong to him utterly,” he continues in a leisurely tone. His hands start to undo his robes, but there’s no need for him to strip them entirely. “He wanted to see you on your knees, looking up at him with adoration… he thought of putting you under his spell before he touched you, so that he could be absolved of asking for your permission.”

“Stop,” Eirika whimpers, shaking her head in the slightest way that the Mogall’s grip on her neck will allow. “Please—I don’t wish to hear this… just do as you will with me, and—”

He cuts her off by having the fiend tear her underwear away and jerking her legs apart, leaving her wholly exposed before him. She squeaks and thrashes, only to be stopped by the pain that radiates from the bruises on her ribcage. He laughs; “Oh, you already know how to beg? Perfect.” The Mogall’s tentacle-limbs leave trails of poisonous, stinging slime along Eirika’s skin as they shift, harshly groping as they make their way between her legs. She bucks, desperate to escape, but to no avail—she only ends up bringing tears to her own eyes, which accentuate their color quite nicely, he thinks.

“Give it up, Eirika,” he rumbles, gleeful, “Surrender like a good girl, and help me fulfill your sweet, foolish Lyon’s darkest wishes, won’t you?”

Her tears fall, and she bites her lip in despair. The demon king laughs and peels away the last of the cloth that hides his erect cock; it stands proud at her eye-level, red-tinted and spade-headed and thick, another display of raw and terrible power. It’s the sort of power Lyon has never had—a manifestation, in some ways, of the poisoned gift which he asked of a demon—well, not that he ever told Eirika such a thing.

“See? This flesh is practically aching to have you.” He grins wickedly as he strokes himself, a slow and leisurely motion made just to prove a point—his cock twitches, eager.

Eirika stares, rabbit-like, at the display he makes, and doesn’t so much as breathe until the Mogall presses itself against her slit and she shivers, disgusted. “There’s… there’s no way…”

“If you want this to stop, why don’t you cry out for him?” The demon chuckles, venomous. “Maybe he can hear you.”

She looks down at bites her lip again; her throat hitches with a sob as the tendrils of the Mogal blindly stroke at her slit. The poison in them must sting just as it numbs—something halfway between pain and relief, tortuous in its own right. Eirika whimpers as the thing tightens its hold on her neck a little more, forcing her to look up once more; he won’t let her take her eyes off of him.

“Gone silent, now? That’s disappointing.” He adjusts Lyon’s robes idly and then snaps his fingers; the fiend lifts Eirika and she cries out wetly, sputtering as more blood drips from her lips. “Tell me truthfully, princess—you’ve never been fucked before, have you?” He draws a finger over her pretty cunt and revels in how she trembles. “Or perhaps your pretty, perfect act is just that, and you’ve spread your legs for countless men—”

“No!” she shouts, but there’s no bite to it. “No, I wouldn’t have…”

Another dark cackle buds in his throat. “Did you hear that, Lyon?” He can’t keep the laugh out of his voice as it builds and blossoms like a poisonous flower. “_You’ll_ be the first to ravage her, the woman you loved so dearly—isn’t that everything you could’ve hoped for?”

“Stop it—you said yourself that Lyon is gone!” She gathers her strength, despite the strain in her voice, into a fiery glare; he cocks a brow, moderately entertained with her display.

“Did I, now? Well, it’s true; I devoured him utterly.” Once more, he takes hold of her chin, his fingers now wet with her fluids and his monster’s poison. “But—think of it as a scrap. A tiny fraction of your precious prince, without a will or voice of his own… that fragment of him is still here, and it can _see _you, Eirika.”

Her tears fall once more, and she tries to shake her head. The demon laughs once more; truly, venomous truths are more fun than any manipulative lie. The creature coaxes her into his lap until she’s flush against his cock, too-big and pulsing with infernal heat. Eirika thrashes, expression twisting. “No—please, that’s too big, it won’t—!”

His arm wraps around her waist and tugs her closer, enough that their faces are nearly touching and he can take in every little detail of her despairing, tear-stained expression. “Watch me _ruin her,_ Lyon,” he says huskily, ignoring the princess’s words in favor of tearing her apart a little more; with the Mogall’s help, he lines his cock up against her. “Watch the light fade from her eyes as I sully her flesh and devour her soul—I’ll make it slow, for you, so you can enjoy every last moment of her demise.”

With his piece spoken he slams her hips downward and forces his way inside; she cries out, voice wrecked, and he can nearly feel the way she stretches to her limit just to take him. Of course, she’s only human, and a virgin at that—he’d expect as much. Eirika’s gasps turn into sobs and she whimpers plaintive cries of “stop” and “please” and “it hurts” that Fomortiis has no reason to hear; he merely chuckles lowly and knots a hand into her hair.

“Does it hurt? It must, with how tense you are around me…” He savors the way she trembles, pained and pitiful, and his shaft throbs inside of her at the pressure. “Move for me, Eirika,” he orders lowly as he tugs on her hair and lets his other hand press threateningly against her purple-splotched ribs. “Satisfy me, and at the least, your torment will be over for the time being.”

Pitifully, she obeys and weakly rocks her hips for him—but she sobs and cries out and tears well heavier in her eyes with the attempt. He presses Lyon’s delicate fingers harder against her tender bruises and she yelps before trying harder; it’s not as though she can move much, her arms and legs still wrapped by the Mogall’s limbs as they are, but it’s cute how she tries, determined, to please him if it means putting an end to her suffering.

“Lyon, I’m sorry,” she whines, almost inaudible, as her eyes glass over from the pain and her consciousness wears thin. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t…”

“That’s right,” Fomortiis encourages her with a purr, “Beg and cry for your pathetic, dead prince. Scream his name as I fuck you—let him hear the pain his folly has caused!” Eirika’s voice hitches and she bites her lip, desperate not to obey, but all it takes is him grabbing her by the waist and thrusting up hard to meet her for her to whine Lyon’s name again in a plaintive apology.

Lyon is all but broken, yet Fomortiis won’t let him shrink away from this—he’s powerless to even close his eyes to the horror before him. Eirika stifles her crying but it does little good when her face is streaked with tears and blood—if she so much as slows in her weak grinding against him, he pulls her hair and digs fingers into her wounds to remind her of her place.

“Please, I can’t take—any more—” she whines, voice hoarse and wet with blood; he chuckles and slams deep into her once again.

“Then break,” he growls, pleased; “it makes no difference to me. I’ll gladly use your hollow flesh until you’re too broken and rotted to so much as take my cock.” Eirika loses her voice as she sobs; she stops moving, her limbs limp like a doll, and he realizes as he jams his nails into her bruised ribs that she doesn’t have the strength to carry on.

With a huff, he has the Mogall release her and he flips their positions, slamming her down against the throne underneath him; she cries out, at that, but she doesn’t fight. He buries himself inside of her again without delay, merciless, and wrings a few more whimpers from her ragged throat yet.

“Perhaps I’ll let the fiends breed you, once I’m through,” he ponders aloud, a smirk near-permanently carved into Lyon’s soft face. “Wouldn’t that be something? The radiant princess of Renais, inheritor of heroic blood, reduced to a bitch for monsters…” She doesn’t seem to hear him anymore, her gaze hazy as she stares at nothing—but _Lyon _can hear him, no matter how broken the boy becomes for it. “Or perhaps I’ll make you my beastly queen—that’s a charming idea… imagine it, how all your loyal subjects would look upon you as my obedient, whorish puppet.” She whimpers, barely conscious—the demon laughs darkly and picks up his rhythm to an even more punishing pace.

“What do you think, Lyon?” he breathes roughly over Eirika’s neck, forcing the boy’s attention back from the depths of oblivion. “Are you jealous?” Of course he would say he isn’t, but the demon king knows: jealousy is the essence of Lyon’s being. Eirika belongs not to him, but to the beast that walks in his flesh, and he cannot so much as lift a finger to save her or apologize—it eats at him, but Fomortiis doesn’t let it kill him.

He watches her expression as he presses a painfully-harsh grip into her hips—she does flinch, though it’s muted—and he sheathes himself inside of her to the base, despite how her flesh strains as it’s stretched by his cock. Lost for words at the sheer torment and high of it all, he laughs breathlessly instead as he comes; she whines and tenses around him, eyes nearly dry of tears, as the demon’s hot seed spills into her and fills her so utterly that it leaks from where they’re tortuously connected.

It marks the end of nothing but the frayed thread of her consciousness; her eyes only close halfway but her world goes black to the sound of his cackling, the image of Lyon’s lips turned into a demonic, ecstatic grin.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway so I decided not to do all 31 prompts for kinktober because the month is reaching its end and I was held up by Real Life Stuff and I have other things I want to write that are nagging at me. Most of the ideas I had that don't get done this month will just get pinned for later, unless I didn't actually have an idea at all, in which case whatever. I'm still going to post one thing a day for the next couple of days though, to finish out strong!
> 
> Oh and I guess you can find me on twitter @cdraconic if you want to keep up with my cursed ass or just yell at me (in a good way please) about the shit I write.


End file.
